"True," acknowledged the notary, thoughtfully. "I never thought of it in that light. Perhaps there is such a person, after all. But why has no one ever seen him?"

"Where is Colonel Neri?"

"He is stationed at Messina. Perhaps he could tell you more than I."

Dismayed, yet not entirely discouraged, by what he had learned, Blake caught the first train back to Messina and that evening found him at Neri's rooms. The Colonel was delighted to see him, but could tell him little more than Aliandro or the notary.

"Do you really believe the Countess left Sicily to travel?" Blake asked him.

"To you I will confess that I do not. We know better than that, you and I. She was working constantly from the time you left for America until her own departure, but I never knew what she discovered. That she learned more than we did I am certain, and it is my opinion that she found the trail of Cardi."

"Then you're not like the others. You still believe there is such a person?"

"Whether he calls himself Cardi or something else makes no difference; there has been an intelligence of a high order at work among the Mafiosi and the banditti of this neighborhood for many years. We learned things after you left; we were many times upon the verge of important discoveries; but invariably we were thwarted at the last moment by that Sicilian trait of secrecy and by some very potent terror. We tried our best to get to the bottom of this fear I mention, but we could not. It was more than the customary distrust and dislike of the law; It was a lively personal dread of some man or body of men, The fact that we have been working nearly a year now without result would indicate that the person at the head of the organization is no common fellow. No one dares betray him, even at the price of a fortune. I believe him to be some man of affairs, some well-fed and respected merchant, or banker, perhaps, the knowledge of whose ident.i.ty would cause a commotion such as Etna causes when she turns over in her sleep."

"That was Ricardo's belief, you remember."

"Yes. I have many reasons for thinking he was right, but I have no proof. Cardi may still be in Sicily, although I doubt it. Gian Narcone has fled; that much I know."

"Indeed?"

"Yes! The pursuit became hot; we did not rest! I do not see, even yet, how we failed to capture him. We apprehended a number whom we know were in the band, although we have no evidence connecting them with that particular outrage. I think we will convict them for something or other, however; at any rate, we have broken up this gang, even though we have lost the two men we most desired. Narcone went to Naples. He may be there now, he may be in any part of Italy, or he may even be in your own America, for all I know. And this mysterious Cardi is probably with him. It is my hope that we have frightened them off the island for all time."

"And sent them to my country! Thanks! We're having trouble enough with our own Italians, as it is."

"You at least have more room than we. But now, before we go further, you must tell me about yourself, about your mother--"

Norvin shook his head gravely. "I arrived in time to see her, to be with her at the last, that is all."

"I am indeed full of sympathy," said Neri. "It is no wonder you could not return to Sicily as soon as you had planned."

"Everything conspired to hold me back. There were many things that needed attention, for her affairs had become badly mixed and required a strong hand to straighten them out. Yet all the time I knew I was needed here; I knew the Countess was in want of some one to lean upon.

I came at the first opportunity, but--it seems I am too late. I am afraid, Neri--afraid for her. G.o.d knows what she may do."

"G.o.d knows!" agreed the soldier. "I pleaded with her; I tried to argue."

"But surely she can't absolutely disappear in this fashion. She will have to make herself known sooner or later."

"I'm not so certain. Her affairs are in good shape and Terranova is for sale."

"Doesn't the bank know her whereabouts?"

"If so, she has instructed them to conceal it."

"Nevertheless I shall go there in the morning and also to her cousins.

Will you help me?"

"Of course!" Neri regarded the young man curiously for an instant, then said, "You will pardon this question, I hope, but since she has taken such pains to conceal herself, do you think it wise to--to--"

"To force myself upon her? I don't know whether it is wise or foolish; all I know is that I must find her. I must!" Blake met the older man's eyes and his own were filled with a great trouble. "You told me once that revenge and hatred are bad companions for a woman and that it would be a great pity if Margherita Ginini did not allow herself to love and be loved. I think you were right. I'm afraid to let her follow this quest of hers; it may lead her into something--very bad, for she has unlimited capabilities for good or evil. I had hoped to-- to show her that G.o.d had willed her to be happy. You see, Neri, I loved her even when Martel was alive."

The Colonel nodded. "I guessed as much. All men love her, and there lies her danger. I love her, also, Signore. I have always loved her, even though I am old enough to be her father, and I would give my life to see her--well, to see her your wife. You understand me? I would help you find her if I could, but I am a soldier. I am chained to my post. I am poor."

"Jove! You're mighty decent," said the American with an odd breathlessness. "But do you think she could ever forget Martel?"

"She is not yet twenty."

"Do you think there is any possibility of my winning her? I thought so once, but lately I have been terribly doubtful."

"I should say it will depend largely upon your finding her. We are not the only good men who will love her. They sailed from here to Naples on the trail of Narcone; that much I believe is reasonably certain. I will give you a letter to the police there, and they will help you. It is possible that we excite ourselves unduly; perhaps you will have no difficulty whatever in locating her, but in the mean time we will do well to talk with her relatives and with the officials of the bank. I look for little help from those quarters, however."

Colonel Neri's misgivings were well founded, as the following day proved. At the bank nothing definite was known as to the whereabouts of the Countess. She had left instructions for the rents to be collected until Terranova was sold and then for all moneys to be held until she advised further. Her cousins were under the impression that she had taken her aunt to northern Italy for a change of climate and believed that she could be found in the mountains somewhere. Blake was not long in discovering that while the relations between the two branches of the family were maintained with an outward show of cordiality they were really not of the closest. Neri told him, as a matter of fact, that Margherita had always considered these people covetous and untrustworthy.

Having exhausted the clues at Messina, Norvin hastened to Naples and there took up his inquiry. He presented his letter, but the police could find no trace of the women and finally told him that they must have pa.s.sed through the city without stopping, perhaps on their way to Rome. So to Rome he went, and there met a similar discouragement. By now he was growing alarmed, for it seemed incredible that a woman so conspicuous and so well known as the Countess of Terranova should be so hard to find unless she had taken unusual pains to hide her ident.i.ty. If such were the case the search promised many difficulties.

Nevertheless, he set about it energetically, sparing no expense and yet preserving a certain caution in order not to embarra.s.s the Countess. He reasoned that if Cardi and Narcone had fled their own island they would be unlikely to seek an utterly foreign land, but would probably go where their own tongue was spoken; hence the Countess was doubtless in one of the Italian cities. When several weeks had been spent without result the young man widened the scope of his efforts and appealed to the police of all the princ.i.p.al cities of southern Europe.

Two months had crept by before word came from Colonel Neri which put an end to his futile campaign. The bank, it seemed, had received a letter from the Countess written in New York. It was merely a request to perform certain duties and contained no return address, but it sent Norvin Blake homeward on the first ship. Now that he knew that the girl was in his own country he felt his hopes revive. It seemed very natural, after all, that she should be there instead of in Europe, for Cardi and his lieutenant, having found Sicily too hot to hold them, had doubtless joined the tide of Italian emigration to America, that land of freedom and riches whither all the sc.u.m of Europe was floating. Why should they turn to Italy, the mother country, when the criminals of Europe were flocking across the westward ocean to a richer field which offered little chance of identification? It seemed certain now that Margherita had taken up the work in earnest; nothing less would have drawn her to the United States. Blake gave up his last lingering doubt regarding her intentions, but he vowed that if her resolve were firm, his should be firmer; if her life held nothing but thoughts of Martel, his held nothing but thoughts of her; if she were determined to hide herself, he was equally determined to find her, and he would keep searching until he had done so. The hunt began to obsess him; he obeyed but one idea, beheld but one image; and he cherished the illusion that once he had overtaken her his task would be completed. Only upon rare occasions did he realize that the girl was still unwon--perhaps beyond his power to win. He chose to trust his heart rather than his reason, and in truth something deep within him gave a.s.surance that she was waiting, that she needed him and would welcome his coming.

VIII

OLD TRAILS

Mr. Bernard Dreux was regarded by his friends rather as an inst.i.tution than as an individual. He was a small man, but he wore the dignity of a senator, and he possessed a pride of that intense and fastidious sort which is rarely encountered outside the oldest Southern families.

He was thin, with the delicate, bird-like mannerisms of a dyspeptic, and although he was nearing fifty he cultivated all the airs and graces of beardless youth. His feet were small and highly arched, his hands were sensitive and colorless. He was an authority on art, he dabbled in music, and he had once been a lavish entertainer--that was in the early days when he had been a social leader. Now, although hara.s.sed by a lack of money which he considered degrading, he still mingled in good society, he still dressed elegantly, his hands were still white and sensitive, contrasting a little with his conscience, which had become slightly discolored and calloused. He no longer entertained, however, except by his wit; he exercised a watchful solicitude over his slender wardrobe, and his revenues were derived from sources so uncertain that he seemed to maintain his outwardly placid existence only through a series of lucky chances. But adversity had not soured Mr. Dreux; it had not dimmed his pride nor coa.r.s.ened his appreciation of beauty; he remained the gentle, suave, and agreeably cynical beau. Young girls had been known to rave over him, despite their mother's frowns; fathers and brothers called him Bernie and greeted him warmly--at their clubs.

But aside from Mr. Dreux's inherited right to social recognition he was marked by another and peculiar distinction in that he was the half-brother and guardian of Myra Nell Warren. This fact alone would have a.s.sured him a wide acquaintance and a degree of popularity without regard to his personal characteristics.

While it was generally known that old Captain Warren, during a short and riotous life, had dashed through the Dreux fortune at a tremendous rate, very few people realized what an utter financial wreck he had left for the two children. There had been barely enough for them to live upon after his death, and inasmuch as Myra Nell's extravagance steadily increased as the income diminished, her half-brother was always hard pressed to keep up appearances. She was a great responsibility upon the little man's shoulders, particularly since she managed in all innocence and thoughtlessness to spend not only her own share of the income, but his also. He was many times upon the point of remonstrating with her, but invariably his courage failed him and he ended by planning some additional self-sacrifice to offset her expanding necessities.

The situation would have been far simpler had Bernie lacked that particular inborn pride which forbade him to seek employment. Not that he felt himself above work, but he recoiled from any occupation which did not carry with it a dignity matching that of his name. Since the name he bore was as highly honored as any in the State, and since his capabilities for earning a living were not greater than those of an eighteen-year-old boy, he was obliged to rely upon his wits. And his wits had become uncommonly keen.

The winter climate of New Orleans drew thither a stream of Northern tourists, and upon these strangers Mr. Dreux, in a gentlemanly manner, exercised his versatile talents. He made friends easily, he knew everybody and everything, and, being a man of leisure, his time was at the command of those travelers who were fortunate enough to meet him. He understood the good points of each and every little cafe in the foreign quarters; he could order a dinner with the rarest taste; it was due largely to him that the fame of the Ramos gin-fizz and the Sazerac c.o.c.ktail became national. His grandfather, General Dreux, had drunk at the old Absinthe House with no less a person that Lafitte, the pirate, and had frequented the house on Royal Street when Lafayette and Marechal Ney were there. It was in this house, indeed, that he had met Louis Philippe. His grandson had such a wealth of intimate detail at his finger tips that it was a great pleasure and privilege to go through the French quarter with him. He exhaled the atmosphere of Southern aristocracy which is so agreeable to Northern sensibilities, he told inimitable stories, and, as for antiques, he knew every shop and bargain in the city. He was liberal, moreover, nay, ingenuous in sharing this knowledge with his new-found friends, even while admitting that he coveted certain of these bargains for his own slender collection. As a result of Mr. Dreux's knack of making friends and his intimate knowledge of art he did a very good business in antiques. Many of his acquaintances wrote him from time to time, asking him to execute commissions, which he was ever willing to do, gratuitously, of course. In this way he was able to bridge over the dull summer season and live without any unpleasant sacrifice of dignity. But it was at best a precarious means of livelihood and one which he privately detested. However, on the particular day in the summer of 1890 on which we first encounter him Mr. Dreux was well contented, for a lumber-man from Minneapolis, who had come South with no appreciation whatever of Colonial antiques, had just departed with enough worm-eaten furniture to stock a museum, and Bernie had collected his regular commission from the dealer.

Now that his own pressing necessities were taken care of for the moment, he began, as usual, to plan for Myra Nell's future. This would have required little thought or worry had she been an ordinary girl, but that was precisely what Miss Warren was not. The beaux of New Orleans were enthusiastically united in declaring that she was quite the contrary, quite the most extraordinary and dazzling of creatures.

Bernie had led them to the slaughter methodically, one after another, with hope flaming in his breast, only to be disappointed time after time. They had merely served to increase the unhappy number which vainly swarmed about her, and to make Bernie himself the target of her satire. Popularity had not spoiled the girl, however; her att.i.tude toward marriage was very sensible beneath the surface, and Bernie's anxious efforts at matchmaking, instead of relieving their financial distress, merely served to keep him in the antique business. Miss Warren loved admiration; she might be said to live on it; and she greeted every new admirer with a bubbling gladness which was intoxicating. But she had no appreciation of the sanct.i.ty of a promise. She looked upon an engagement to marry in the same light as an engagement to walk or dine, namely, as being subject to the weather or to a prior obligation of the same sort. Bernie was too much a gentleman to urge her into any step for which she was not ready, so he merely sighed when he saw his plans go astray, albeit confessing to moments of dismay as he foresaw himself growing old in the second-hand business. But a change had occurred lately, and although no word had pa.s.sed between brother and sister, the melancholy little bachelor had been highly gratified at certain indications he had marked. It seemed to him that her choice, provided she really had chosen, was excellent; for Norvin Blake was certainly very young to be the president of the Cotton Exchange, he was free from any social entanglements, and he was rich. Moreover, his name had as many honorable a.s.sociations as even Bernie's own. All in all, therefore, the little man was in an agreeable frame of mind to-day as he strolled up Ca.n.a.l Street, nodding here and there to his acquaintances, and turned into Blake's office.

He entered without announcing himself, and Norvin greeted him cordially. Bernie seldom announced himself, being one of those rare persons who come and go un.o.btrusively and who interrupt important conversations without offense.

"Do I find you busy?" he inquired, dropping into one of Blake's easy-chairs and lighting a perfumed cigarette.

"No. Business is over for the day. But I am glad to see you at any time; you're so refreshingly restful."

"How are the new duties and responsibilities coming on?"